


I'll catch you when you fall

by orphan_account



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: AU that Jake responds to the active shooting instead of Rosa, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by Show Me Going, but i’ll keep it up for anyone who wants to still read it, s5e20, this is really old and bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 07:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: She was such a fool that just minutes ago, she had been fretting over a doltish toilet she had been trying to fix (which she had ended up smashing – but that was beside the point). Her hands gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles turning white from the pressure, her heart pounding aggressively in her chest. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so worried, perhaps she’d be downstairs managing the uniformed officers. However, when they all gathered around a radio shooting out warnings about an active shooting in Brooklyn Heights, she had to linger.Yet when she heard: “Peralta, 9544, show me going.”, her stomach dropped. Jake, her partner, her friend, her fiancé, the love of her life, was responding to an active shooting, and she was not taking it well.orJake responds to an active shooting in Brooklyn Heights, and all Amy can do is wait and hope.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 13
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've always wondered about the idea of Jake responding to the active shooting instead of Rosa when I first watched Show Me Going. i wondered how would Amy react? what if Amy was the only being held back from helping instead of Jake? what would happen if Jake got hurt? and then came this. i hope you enjoy! :)

She was such a fool that just minutes ago, she had been fretting over a doltish toilet she had been trying to fix (which she had ended up smashing – but that was beside the point). Her hands gripped the edge of the desk, her knuckles turning white from the pressure, her heart pounding aggressively in her chest. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so worried, perhaps she’d be downstairs managing the uniformed officers. However, when they all gathered around a radio shooting out warnings about an active shooting in Brooklyn Heights, she had to linger. 

Yet when she heard: “Peralta, 9544, show me going.”, her stomach dropped. Jake, her partner, her friend, her fiancé, the love of her life, was responding to an active shooting, and she was not taking it well. 

Her teeth gritted painfully, and her face froze in a demeanor of honest, genuine fear. Her eyes trained to the radio as if it was a lifeline, hoping for a rush of comfort. Hoping it was just some sort of cruel lie. Yet she knew it wasn’t. Jake was in there in an active shooting. 

“That’s Jake’s badge number.” Rosa murmured beside her, worry straining her voice. Amy would be shocked to hear emotion in her cold friend’s voice for once, if she hadn’t been so distressed currently. She tore her gaze forcefully away from the police radio to read her friend’s expressions. Holt looked normal, the only thing disfiguring his features from the normal was the slight tension in his eyebrows. Gina’s previous look of confusion melted into concern, lips pursued in fixation. Charles looked as if he was about to cry, already starting to pace and rant about how Jake just couldn’t die, mumbling something beneath his breath about his best friend. Terry looked so incredibly worried, eyes drooping to the ground as he rubbed his palm over his temple as if trying to rid of the worry.

A tension hung above the group as they simultaneously looked to Amy. Her hands balled tightly into fists around the edge of the desk, her breathing becoming unorderly.  
Jake and his sex tape jokes and wry smiles. Jake and his dumb sneakers. Jake and the Die Hard posters he pleaded to be hung up in their apartment. Jake and his dark brown irises that just flooded with care and love when they gazed upon her, as if they were just waiting to see her all day. Jake and his brown curls that she would twist her hands into during take-out and Netflix nights on their couch. That Jake could be dead right now. 

She swore a bit of tears she tried to withhold pricked the corners of her eyes.

“Squad, meet me in the briefing room. I just got information on the active shooting from the commissioner.” Holt interrupted her thoughts.  
A high tension drifted between them as they shuffled into the briefing room and took their seats apprehensively. Amy’s eyes stuck to the captain as he cleared his throat, shifting lightly as his eyes raked over the phone in his hand. 

“We have very limited information on the shooting in Brooklyn Heights. There is two, possibly three active shooters.” The captain paused, waiting patiently for any questions, before continuing after met with silence. “There are currently three dead and multiple wounded. All of them are civilians. The 97 has locked down the area and have multiple officers on the scene. The commissioner has ordered us to not intervene.”

A heavy silence casts across the room like a spell. An anger bubbles up somewhere inside Amy as she waits for someone to speak up. Like hell she was going to sit here and do nothing while her fiancé was in mortal danger. The words spring furiously from her mouth before she can stop herself. 

“Are you serious? With all due respect captain, Jake is our friend and part of the squad. We have to have his back.” This surprised everyone. As Amy Santiago, who never broke rules, and would follow her captain’s orders no matter what would protest to Holt like that. 

“I understand your concern Santiago, but it is a direct order from the commissioner. It’s already a zoo up there, a massive NYPD response is already up there with Peralta.” Holt replies calmly. “We just have to go along our business as usual.” 

She gets out of her chair abruptly, her knuckles irately slamming across the desk almost painfully. Her teeth grit and her back strains, burning gaze planting on the captain. “I’m not just going to stand by and wait until my fiancé gets shot!” She yells, eyes narrowed. No venom or malice slipped her voice, instead her voice betrayed her hard expression with an undeniable anguish. She walks out at that, leaving everyone in the briefing room stunned. 

She swiftly hurries through the bullpen and out to the balcony, and finally, the sob she was holding slips out. 

-

She stays out there for a few more minutes, stress and worry overtaking her until all she can do is just cry silently over the railing. Anxiety taints her body every time a sob shakes her form. 

Amy just can’t imagine going home to their apartment without Jake being there; waiting for her to return with a dopey, lopsided smile that overtakes his face. Can’t imagine that tender kiss he presses against her temple as they wander to the bed for sleep. How she tucks her into his arms and murmurs nonsense about her day as she slowly drifts into sleep, twirling his hair that slightly overgrows at the base of his nape. The feeling of him lightly smiling against her neck or pressing a light kiss there in pure affection. 

She couldn’t live with herself if anything happened to him. 

“Santiago.” A rough voice pipes up, interrupting her thoughts as she quickly wipes her eyes. She turns to the captain, eyes bloodshot and eyelids trained as she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I know you are worried about Peralta.” Holt speaks, hand leaning against the railing of the balcony. 

“Captain, I’m sorry to interrupt, but how would you feel if Kevin was in that type of situation?” She asks coldly, her voice quivering. She notes how Captain Holt’s eyebrows furrow slightly in surprise. “Wouldn’t you be just a little worried?” She says, frustrated now. “Worried that maybe the next day he won’t be there?”

For once, the captain goes silent, and lets out this deep exhale from deep in his chest. “I would be reacting the same way you are.” Holt says seriously, nostrils flaring up lightly. “I know you are struggling. But you must deal with the reality of the situation. Peralta is with a giant response force that are handling the situation as we speak. I cannot guarantee that Peralta be alright, but you’re going to have to trust in his abilities and the NYPD’s abilities to keep him safe.” Holt twists his upper body to point into the bullpen from the window framed into the door connecting the balcony, “You have your friends out there just as worried as you. The best thing you can do is worry with them and help them through their struggles as well as your own.”

She lets out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding in, her taut fists loosening and falling to her sides. She’s feeling such a large amount of stress, an overwhelming urge to burst into the scene and find Jake, that she can barely even see between her drowning concern. “You’re right, sir.” She admits in a sigh, a lump forming in her throat. “Thank you, captain.” 

Holt nods approvingly, his palm drifting over her shoulder consolingly. “I’m proud of you, Santiago.” The captain says, hand dropping back to his side before lingering just a millisecond longer before he silently turns away and walks back into the bullpen. 

A little part of her screams a little as she just barely smiles. Captain Holt just said he was proud of her. She wants to let out a little victory dance wildly and scream a victory into the sky. Yet, when she stumbles back into the bullpen, reality dawns on her again. Jake was still in an active shooting and little to nothing was known about the shooting. 

Her smile falters as she looks around her friends. They’re all just as worried as her; anxiously waiting for news on the shooting and on Jake. Charles and Terry sit beside each other at Terry’s desk, talking as quietly as they can muster to each other, both obviously still tense. Gina is sitting at her desk on her phone as usual, but Amy notes as Gina looks away from her phone and at the police radio every few seconds. Rosa is sitting at her desk looking through a file, obviously trying to distract herself. Yet her actions seemed delayed and stressed and her eyebrows furrow and lips rub against each other tensely. Skully and Hitchcock – don’t really seem to know what’s going on.

She lets out a sigh, and heads over to Terry and Charles. As their strained eyes avert over to her, she lets out a sad smile. “Hey guys.” She starts, and soon after, they all start to talk together. They’re all worried about Jake, and if they are going to worry, they should at least worry together. 

-

A half an hour passes, but to her it seems as if hours have gone by. Her, Terry, and Charles talk about Jake and what they’re skittish and nervous about silently. It’s serious and unamusing, unlike most banter that trades around the precinct. Yet oddly – it’s satisfying. She feels her worries being shared and her anxiety subside lightly over time. 

Even Rosa joins the conversation, just not as social, only nodding sadly along to what they had to say. Yet their solitude of soft tones and anxious intentions sharpen back up to attention as the captain steps out of his office and starts to speak. “Squad, I have gotten information on the Brooklyn Heights shooting from the captain of the 97. The shooters are in custody.” 

A few sighs of relief go around, a huge weight being taken off the precinct’s shoulders. Yet, there was still one more issue. There was still no Jake. Jake wasn’t with them reassuring them all he was alright, entering the precinct with an idiotic quip they would all roll their eyes at but still smile at. Amy only senses the worst when Holt’s face falls a bit from his usual façade.

“Multiple officers have been injured along with multiple civilians. No officers are dead as of yet, but many are in critical condition.” 

Her worst dreams soon take place as the captain continues to speak. Holt’s head shakes in sorrow, a frown curving his still lips downwards. 

“Peralta is one of those wounded officers in critical condition.” 

Now all over again, she’s collapsing in desperation and torment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, much longer, and much more angst and fluff. enjoy :)

She doesn’t recall how quick she dashed out of the precinct, stumbling into the elevator in an expeditious fashion. Amy paced in circles in the confines of that elevator, her heartbeat pounding so hard that it assaulted all other senses. Her entire body trembled. She should’ve been there. She should’ve traveled to the scene, despite the orders given to her. 

Amy soon finds herself sprinting toward her car, her dainty badge fastened back to the chest of her sergeant uniform. 

Her fingers tap impatiently on the steering wheel. She just barely even acknowledges the usual Brooklyn traffic, aggressively honking her horn at every car or pedestrian in front of her. She was usually particularly orderly and cautious with her driving, being careful with every turn and noting every car besides, behind, or in front of her. 

Now was different. All she could sense right now was Jake. She needed to get to Jake. 

She can’t even register the dry tears that slip from her eyes. Damn it, why was the drive to Brooklyn Heights so far?

Then when she finally meets her destination and disembarks the driver’s seat of her car, she is met with two uniformed officers keeping vigilant watch. Chaos is happening in the background. She sees three individuals on their knees, hands behind their backs bounded with handcuffs. Guns are pointed at them, and she notes how one in the middle has been shot, their face disorientated in pain with blood staining the base of their side. She can safely assume they were the shooters. Ambulances and sirens are everywhere, lights from patrol cars and ambulances bouncing on every surface. She sees stretchers being pulled out of the hotel, some clad in police nobility and some civilians. 

Yet there was still no Jake.

Amy wipes her eyes furiously before apprehending the officers. They both dip their heads reverently upon her approach, sergeant uniform still remains on her form. Yet, when she tries to push her way through to the scene, she is only stopped and pushed back. 

“Let me through.” She practically hisses through clenched teeth, hands balled into tight fists. The officer that speaks up is anything but docile. 

“Everything is under control Sergeant. All three shooters are in custody and we are currently treating the wounded. The captain of the 9-7 informed us to not let any other officers on the scene.” Amy narrows her eyes, practically throwing her hands in the air agitatedly. 

“My fiancé is in there! Like hell I’m just going to let you stop me. I have to go see him!” She demands, her voice cracking slightly. 

The officer just shakes his head dutifully. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.” 

She continues her assault on the officers preventing her from the scene, provoked to the point where she starts slamming her fists down outrageously and screaming some pleads. She attracts some attention, some eyes averting over to her outburst, but she could really care less. Jake was in there. Jake had been in there handling three shooters; and was now in a critical condition. She couldn’t just wait idly by. 

Her harassment on the officers doesn’t cease until another stretcher is pulled out from the hotel. A horrific sight awaits her, displayed on that stretcher. She finds her fiancé there, his jaw unhinged and hanging, scuff marks and bruises painted over his face. His skin was ghostly pale, and his eyes are either closed or barely pried open. She sees a trickle of scarlet ooze from his busted lip. A scary stain of blood coats his NYPD uniform at his left shoulder, forming in a round circle. Some of the uniform is shredded at the point of his shoulder, but her vision is blocked and she can’t see the actual damage of the bullet. She freezes. Out of all the gruesome things she has witnessed as a cop, she freezes at the sight. There’s so much blood. There’s so little life in that face she saw sprawled on the stretcher.

“Jake!” Amy cries out desperately, already trying to ram herself between the two officers. “Let me through! That’s my fiancé, please let me through!” She cries and pleads, trying to fight and claw her way through to him. 

The officers give a wary, uncomfortable look at each other before solemnly letting her pass. 

She darts forward toward him, locked onto him like a missile. She feels like she’s been run over by an emotional truck. She forcefully squeezes herself between two EMT’s and is finally able to get a good look at him. A large purple bruise blooms at the base of his forehead, his lip is busted, and a few curves of scratches and damaging marks arch around the framing of his face. His meek form in incredibly still. His hands loosely lay limp at his sides, and upon further notice, she can see his eyes barely slits. His eyes were open. 

Her breath catches in her throat. She leans down to tenderly grab his calloused, pale hand in her own. His hands don’t work around her slightly smaller hands to twine their fingers together, or rub his thumb gently along the back of her hand. It stays limp and heavy in her hand. Tears arise at the surface of her eyes, and she sniffles heavily. 

She swears that Jake’s eyes are trained on her like the last ray of sunlight on this gloomy, tenebrous day. Light is drained from those eyes that usually flare with a childish joy. 

She feels absent from the world around her. Everything and everyone vanishes around them. She can see his lip softly flinch, trying to gurgle out actual words but failing miserably, and the noise comes out strangled. 

A shaky exhale leaves her. She wants to do nothing more but to lean into his chest and sob her heart out. 

“You’re going to be fine.” She tries to smile, she really does, but it ends short in another sob. She convinces herself she’s talking to Jake to reassure him. Tell him that she was there, she wouldn’t leave his side. Though she knows she’s convincing herself, because she just can’t bear the state Jake is currently in. 

Her tear-wrenching thoughts are interrupted as she feels the tiniest, weakest movement over her palm. Warmth ripples through her instantly as Jake musters all his strength to wrap his fingers around her hand. It’s so physically painful to watch, as if it takes every ounce of his strength just to coil his fingers with her own. “Ames..” 

He hears him fight to get the words out, and her heart reaches out for him. Amy has always had a hard time being optimistic about certain situations. Her anxiety reaching out of bounds to create a million different scenarios about how something could go wrong. So just like now, she’s struggling to find an outcome where everything would be fine. Jake would be fine. Jake just had to be fine.

But what if he wouldn’t be?

Then this just tears Amy apart from the inside. It messes her up so much. She already sees that life calendar above their bed being ripped into shreds. Just being torn apart in front of her eyes as she roots her eyes to Jake, who’s struggling to stare at her. The heaviness in his eyelids are just screaming for him to shut his eyes, and Amy can only pray that he will stay conscious because if he doesn’t she doesn’t think she can handle it. 

She also realizes that reality also wants to tear them apart. EMT’s push her out of the way as he gets hurried into the back of an ambulance, some already working to address his wounds and current state. 

She stands there with her eyes blown wide, staring after Jake as he’s quickly ripped away from her grasp and taken away. Her eyes follow the ambulance until it turns the corner hurriedly. She can’t register the tears that trail down her cheeks and fall onto the concrete below her. Her body folds forward in a fit of tears and snot. 

It’s only until a flat palm lays gently over her shoulder blade does she pop back into reality, scrambling to straighten from her skewed posture and turn, tears still rendering her vision opaque. 

Rosa speaks oddly soft, an obvious edge in her voice. “Hey. We’ve been chasing you since you rushed out.” Rosa pauses unsurely, hesitating a great deal before finally able to choke out a silent: “I’m sorry.”

Amy spots the squad gaining on their position from Terry’s minivan which parked beside her own car. She anticipates that Rosa and the squad had seen the whole scene from afar, which she dreads. Don’t get her wrong, Amy has always appreciated the support of her family and friend, and welcomes it with open arms. It makes her feel wrapped up in something so safe and secure, that she isn’t alone with whatever big leap or shaky step she takes. 

Yet right now, she doesn’t know what path to take. Amy has strived to excogitate her entire life; when she joined the academy, when she planned to be the NYPD’s youngest captain, and when she transferred to the 9-9. She had never planned for Jake. 

Jake with his large, goofy smile and sour candies stuffed into the same faded jacket he wears almost daily. Jake who obsessed over Die Hard and would bicker and banter with her about who the better detective was. Those small, subtle compliments that grew butterflies in her stomach. Even when she was dating Teddy she never planned for Jake and his stupid confession that left her speechless to disorientate her calendar. 

Before she met Jake, her perfect guy would always be like her. Obsessed with organization and those new binders that always left her giddy. With perfect tabs and a nerdy charm. So, when she found herself developing a crush on Jake, she had been fearful and puzzled. 

Then after a while she came to accept she couldn’t control everything, and sometimes, that was a good thing. It was also why she was here; shaking and sobbing as Jake was critically injured. Now she just didn’t know where to go and what to do. All she knew is that she wanted to see Jake; nobody else. She was provoked, agitated, and stressed, and she feels she might just blow up if anyone says just one simple thing about Jake. 

So, when the squad comes to retrieve her, her head hangs low and meek. Her legs shake as if her knees are going to cave in as she walks feebly. She drowns out the barking concerns and questions about her and Jake from the squad, hiding behind the strands of hair that freed themselves from her tight bun way earlier.

She climbs into Terry’s minivan, all the way in the back, and only nods in bleak gratitude at the offer to drive her to the hospital Jake was being held. 

Jake would be alright. She wouldn’t let him leave them.

-

The reality also happened to be the way-too-long drive to the hospital, horrible traffic back-ups, and arriving to the hospital only to find out that they weren’t allowed to see Jake yet. This time, Amy’s vexation wouldn’t stop that reality.

All Amy could really do at that moment was climb onto the uncomfortable hospital chair, prop her chin on her palm, and try to rid of pessimistic thoughts. 

To the squad’s credit, they really tried to comfort her. Yet after about an hour of idly waiting, the tension was a little too hard to resist. That nausea in her stomach hadn’t subsided and she wanted nothing more than pure reassurance. Physical reassurance, physical proof she could lay her eyes on and tell her that Jake would be alright. 

This wasn’t the first time she had seen someone close to her hurt. Charles had been shot in the butt (she wished Jake was here to joke about that for once) years ago, whenever Captain Holt had become captain of the precinct. Holt had his leg impaled on a pipe in Florida, where they had to leave him behind to deal with Figgis, and she hadn’t freaked out.

Neither of those times had she freaked out.

Not only that, but she has witnessed Jake injured before. Those times she hadn’t had to worry so much as it was only due to Jake’s brash nature, and it wasn’t life threatening. However, this was an active shooting. Several upon several of people unfortunately died to shootings like this, especially officers. Then, after seeing Jake... she couldn’t help but weep. He had definitely been shot in the shoulder, and even more so, he looked as if he had been beat up. Bruises fiddled along his milky pale skin in the form of hard knuckles. His lip bad been bleeding and busted, and scrapes scored themselves around the framing of his face. 

That look stayed stitched in her memory, plaguing her thoughts and emotions. She had never seen Jake like that. He looked at her that she could only describe as desperation. Just then had she just wanted to gather him in a tight hug and never let go.

She remained unfocused and out-of-tact with her surroundings, head inclining down and arms crossing to herself. That is, until a nurse hurried over to the group, when she instantly perked up. 

“Mr. Peralta got done with surgery ten minutes ago. His wounds have been treated and it looks like he will make a full recovery.” For the first time all day, she let out a sincere sigh of relief. The weight of the world seemed to lighten on her shoulders. “Luckily, the bullet had not gone deep enough to hit any major arteries or organs and was successfully taken out. He must stay at the hospital for about a week to recover and have his arm in a sling.” The nurse continued explaining, in which the squad listened intently, even Gina, who set down her phone. 

Amy leaned back in her seat, relishing in that wave of relief that overcame her. Jake would be alright. All her worries subsided at the single mention of Jake making a full recovery. He would be healthy, and alive, and in her arms again. Then, they would get married like they had planned. A smile curved her lips at that thought. 

“… Mr. Peralta is on a lot of pain meds, but he is conscious. He requested an Amy?” Her smile only widened a bit. Don’t get her wrong, she’s still furious at what happened to him and concerned about his wounds, but all that matters to her right now is that he was alright. He was still here and with them, and god, she loved him so very much. 

“I’m Amy, his fiancée.” She said proudly of her status, standing up. She wasn’t even concerned about the mess that she currently was. Her hair stuck up and her bun had fallen to a messy ponytail that was already collapsing, the hair tie failing to keep it together. Her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes due to how much tears she had let loose in these past hours. 

The nurse only nodded, beckoning her with a calm hand to follow her to escort her to Jake. She follows eagerly, nervously fidgeting with the end of the NYPD shirt (which she had been able to change into while waiting - as she didn’t want to be in her uniform the entire time) as they neared closer to the room he occupied. Would he be so high on pain meds that she would barely be able to register what she was saying? Or that she was here? Would he look as bad as he did on that stretcher?

She was led past a busy hallway bustling with activity, the hospital practically at mass capacity thanks to the Brooklyn Heights shooting. 

God, what did Jake witness in there? It was an active shooting, and knowing Jake, he was probably thrilled for his first active shooting. How much would the squad bet he said a Die Hard quote when engaging the shooters? She turned the corner at the order of the nurse, before stopping at the hospital room. 

What was she supposed to say when she got in there? Collapse and admit how worried she was? That would probably raise his ego a little too much. She was nervous how he would react when she got in there. Would he even remember the moment they had on that stretcher?

Her heart thumped a little louder. 

Amy screwed her eyes shot before turning the doorknob, and walking into the room. Opening her eyes back up, a flourish of sunlight peeked through the transparence of the window. The hospital bed lay at the center of the room. There was her fiancé, staring off into space, sitting up in the bed. The purple bruise painting his forehead remained the same as earlier on the stretcher, splattering with other scary colors along his skin. His skin must’ve gained some of its color back, thankfully not as ghostly pale as he had been formerly. Little cuts and nicks were dry across his cheekbones and jaw. His lower lip was swollen and a shade of light purple, the bleeding absent. His right arm was caught in a sling, a thick layer of gauze barely peeking out behind the strap. His other arm lay upside down, wrist showing to the ceiling with an IV fastening into the inside of his arm. His hair and curls were out of control, roused up and ruffled. If it wasn’t for the predicament, she would’ve said it was incredibly cute. 

Jake suddenly shifted, sitting up just a little more without trying to disarray the IV leading into his arm. His neck slightly inclined to the right, and his eyes met hers. 

She froze, nervously fiddling with the end of her shirt again as she mustered a soft smile toward him. 

Jake’s chocolate brown gaze started to ease around the edges, a smile starting to form his face in a goofy, jubilant passion. “So, Ames, think I can get a cool scar out of this?” 

All that pent-up anxiety, stress, and pressure. All of that panicking and despair tormenting her had been thrown out the window with those very words. Her taut muscles relaxed and she threw her head back and laughed. A genuine, pure laugh drawing from her lips as she feels all of stress leave her body and out, her hand going to her face as she shook her head at him, her grin almost so big it overtook her entire face. 

God, she was such an idiot. 

“You’re such an idiot.” She said wryly, the smile that split her face illuminating her entire face. With his dumb jokes and goofy grin, she couldn’t help but bring herself to laugh, but also roll her eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. She was here, with her fiancé injured in a hospital bed, grinning like an idiot after the statement he had said. 

She could have her mind wander and wonder what it would be like without Jake. What she would’ve done if she hadn’t put her transfer in for the 9-9, and hadn’t met all her friends and her future husband. The answer was that she wouldn’t be here laughing, and smiling at this child of a man. She wouldn’t have said those sincere words on the day they first kissed: “He makes me laugh.” 

She wouldn’t find her day being filled with this dorky idiot who’s banter and quips made her grin from ear to ear, who even high on pain meds and his body weak, would strive to make some stupid joke after getting shot. 

And boy, did she love that dorky idiot.

She propelled herself forward and stumbled toward him. She sat on the edge of his bed, being gentle as the uncomfortable mattress dipped under both of their weight. Jake shifted to the side a bit to give her room. She dipped her body downward, pressing a consoling kiss on his forehead. She cleared her throat a bit, using every ounce of self-control not to lay down and cuddle into his side on the small bed. 

“How are you feeling?” She murmured questioningly, already brushing her fingers over the large purple bruise smeared on his forehead. She frowned sadly as he slightly flinched in pain when she applied just a bit of pressure. 

He let out a hoarse chuckle, and must’ve seen her frown, because he crossed his left hand over to her own and led it away from the bruise. “I’m fine Amy. Just a little bruised up.” He replied, his adam’s apple bobbing lightly as he heavily cleared his throat. 

She frowned again. “Jake...” Her voice showed clear concern, her palm resting on his cheek, which he reluctantly leaned into. “How did you get these?” 

His face seemed to fall a bit. He lets out a deep sigh from the back of his throat, and leans further into her touch as he started to speak. “When we were in there.. the shooters had split up around the hotel.. so they ordered multiple groups of us to search different areas of the hotel and report if we saw anything.” 

“Everything was going to plan, but then I heard noise in a room we had skipped. I wanted to check it out- but we were ordered to check the roof. Instead I left the others and went against their orders, and I found one of the shooters. I was able to get him to drop his weapon with his hands up, but I didn’t see the other until- “

Jake choked up a bit, hesitating to get out the words building on his tongue. She rubbed the base of her thumb over his cheekbones encouragingly. 

“Until I was shot.” He blankly nods to the sling his arm is caught in. “I reported that I had a found one of the shooters and was about to subdue them. Yet I dropped my gun.” His voice etched with a bit of resentment and anger. “I fucking dropped my gun. Before I knew it, the guy I got to the ground was on me, already shoving his fists into my face.” 

Amy exhaled tensely. Jake’s face twisted into disappointment, almost a scowl at himself as he sinks into his pillow as if trying to hide his face of shame. She feels a bit of pity for him. He was going against an active shooter alert, and true to the Jake name, he had a voice telling him to look at something that was against the rules. His urge was correct as well, and he found two out of three shooters. 

She tries not to imagine the NYPD officers pulling the shooter off him or the amount of pain he endured. 

“Jake, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Amy starts, moving her hand to twirl with the wild curls in his hair tenderly. 

“You don’t understand, Ames. I screwed up again. I screwed up again because I had this stupid urge to be the hero of it all and could’ve gotten myself killed.” Jake pauses, gaze hesitantly trailing back to meet eye contact. “I couldn’t have seen you again.” He barely whispers, the very thought bringing chills down her spine. 

She feels herself melt a bit beneath his gaze. Her jaw falls lightly agape, words swirling at the tip of her tongue. She hates what happened to Jake. She hates to see him in her grasp, disorientated in pain and marked with signs of injury. She hates to think that their marriage could’ve never happened. She hates to think that Jake could’ve died; and she would’ve done nothing about it. 

A grimace crosses her face as she straightens her back, shaking her head aggressively. “Jake, you didn’t screw up. You had an urge telling you something was wrong and you followed it. Now look what happened? They were able to capture two shooters, something that might’ve not happened if you hadn’t checked.” 

He opens his mouth to retaliate, but she shuts him up and interrupts again. 

“You were a hero today. Don’t tell yourself differently. You’re a great cop and that voice you had may have prevented two active shooters to escape.” Amy says, fingers brushing over his hairline as she continues to occupy herself with his tangle of hair. 

She absolutely loathes the idea of Jake having left. It would’ve flipped her life upside down. Her career would be plummeted, she would never find love again, and she would just go into a descending spiral. Jake dying is her worst nightmare. Yet, right now, she finds herself worrying more over the fact that Jake is doubting himself, calling himself a screw-up, for a noble act of bravery.

Before she knows it, Jake is already crashing his lips into hers. She’s caught by surprise at first, taking a second to register, before leaning down and falling into it. It’s chaste and not heated or rushed, not desperate or needy. It’s tender and warm, it’s a kiss of people so in love that they can barely help themselves. 

After a few moments, they part for air. Amy’s eyes flutter open, her forehead leaning against Jake’s in a soft embrace. She notes how her arms are still wrapped around his neck, tucked beneath his nape and the pillow. They stay there for a while, basking in each other’s synced breathing and beating hearts. That’s until she plants her palms on his chest, pushing herself above him as he grins at her. 

“So, I guess the wedding is going to have to be rescheduled?” He asks in a slight taunt, eyes gleaming a little more than they did before. 

She simply rolls her eyes. “All that matters is that you’re here, and you’re safe.” She reminds him, a smile glinting her face.

Jake chuckles, already moving in to kiss her again, in which she gladly complies to as she goes to meet him in the middle. He’s unable to move either of his hands without disrupting the sling around his shoulder or the IV, but she goes ahead and places her hand on his cheek as she leans in. Her heart beats a little faster as warmth flourishes through her, their lips barely brushing…

…That is, until the rest of the squad bursts in. They quickly jolt and jump apart, with Amy quickly standing up and off the mattress of the bed. Both of their faces flush a deep crimson in embarrassment of being caught. 

The squad doesn’t seem to disturbed, other than Gina who comments something about getting a room. Charles just seems more thrilled than he was in the waiting room. Yet, all those worries drain away as their friends gather around Jake’s bed. 

It’s not long until they share their concerns and hugs to Jake, who just animatedly reassures them. They’re soon all talking like normal around the bed, Holt even giving his approval to Jake and his heroic actions during the Brooklyn Heights shooting. 

Amy and Jake’s eyes meet in the middle through a laugh that shares around the squad from something Jake said (other than Rosa, of course, who she swears is actually smiling a bit). A soft smile warms her features, and Jake mouths a quiet: “I love you, too.”

Amy knows just then, they’re going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eh? eh? what did you think? i love this au so much and even though it's pretty angsty, i really enjoyed writing this. kudos and comments would be so appreciated. thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So watchya' think?? I'm open for constructive criticism, and i apologize for the cliffhanger. next chapter is going to be a lot longer with a lot more fluff (and equal amount of angst).


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